Finn: The Boston Syndicate, Book One

1. Finn

The last thing any man who’s the leader of a criminal organization wants to do is admit when he fucked up, but I did. And it nearly cost a man—a man I’ve come to respect—his life and his woman’s life. That’s not something I take lightly. Being the head of the Monaghan family, the oldest Irish mob outfit in Boston, doesn’t make me exempt from making mistakes—and I made a big one. The MC I work with had been having a problem with the Italians, and I didn’t move fast enough. I’ve been putting plans in place to take care of the Cataldis well before they started shit with the bikers, but the time I thought I had has run out.

The relationship between the Black Roses MC and my family has been fruitful and very profitable for each of us. That’s why I’m headed to their clubhouse on a bright Monday morning instead of getting head from the blonde I took to a hotel after the underground fights my brother Eoghan runs. Sometimes, I like to go a few rounds in the ring, and last night, I demolished some gym rat who thought his steroid-induced muscles would make up for his lack of skill. It did not. It was the stress relief I needed leading up to the meeting at the clubhouse. The fight and the blonde.

Speaking of Eoghan, he looks a hell of a lot worse for wear than I do as we travel down the highway between Boston and Shine, Massachusetts, to meet with the president of the MC.

“You okay over there? You’re looking a little green around the gills, brother.” I attempt to swallow my laughter, but there’s no use hiding my smirk at his obvious discomfort. I may be driving a little faster than necessary, taking turns a little sharper, but I wouldn’t be the loving older brother I am if I didn’t give him all the grief I could.

“Fuck off,” Eoghan groans, trying to shift in his seat to find a more comfortable position with his blond head resting against the window. “Why isn’t Cillian with you again? I don’t see why you had to drag me out of bed at this ungodly hour.”

“It’s ten in the morning, you lazy asshole. And Cillian isn’t here because he’s been searching for Carlo Cataldi while simultaneously covering the casino. The man needs some sleep.”

“I need some fucking sleep,” he mumbles, closing his bloodshot blue eyes. My brother and I share the same eye color, but that’s where our familial similarities end. Eoghan takes after our mother with his blond hair that he keeps longer, whereas I have short dark hair that touts our Black Irish roots.

Carlo is at the center of the Italian problem I’ve let fester long enough. He was the one who took Ozzy, the Black Roses MC president, and his woman, Freya, hostage a few months back. Cillian would be here in a heartbeat if I’d asked, but my lieutenant has been burning the candle at both ends. Running the casino and finding Cataldi are vital to the future of our organization, and Cillian is as dedicated as they come.

My brother cocks his head then shakes it, sighing heavily. He is not a fan of how I’ve handled the Italian situation. If it were up to him, we would have gone in guns blazing months ago and taken care of them.

There has never been any love lost between the Cataldis and the Monaghans, but I can’t justify an all-out war with them. My brother would have preferred a show of extreme force, but we aren’t prepared for it—yet. Even though I’m only older than Eoghan by a mere fourteen months, I’m still the boss. I make the calls on this kind of shit, not him.

Thank fuck for that.

Since he isn’t commenting further, I let the conversation drop. We’ll just go round and round if I engage. After my fight and the subsequent fuck from last night, I’m not wound tight enough to give Eoghan the argument he’s looking for. Besides, I have more pressing issues weighing on my mind than worrying about my inaction with the Cataldis the last few months. Things not even my brother knows about.

When we pull up to the clubhouse situated at the edge of Shine, I wave at the prospect manning the gate and he lets us through. This is only the second time I’ve been to the clubhouse in the handful of years Ozzy and I have been doing business. Usually, they make their way into Boston for the night, and my brother and I show them a good time. But since this visit is more of a personal matter, I decided coming to Ozzy was the right call. It’s my way of showing the MC president the respect he deserves.

Knox, the club’s VP, meets us at the door after we’ve parked in the gravel lot and clasps my hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you, Finn.” He releases my hand and shakes my brother’s. “Eoghan.”

“Knox,” my brother replies. Eoghan is one of those guys that everyone likes to be around. He’s easygoing, at least until you piss him off. Knox, on the other hand, has always struck me as a man of few words who doesn’t need more than a look and a few grunts to effectively get his point across. It doesn’t surprise me when he doesn’t return my brother’s friendly smile.

Walking into the clubhouse, Eoghan spots Jude, one of the club’s enforcers, playing a game of pool with one of the other enforcers, Linc.

“Oi!” Eoghan calls with a wide smile.

Jude spins around and returns his smile with one of his own. “Fucking wanker. You didn’t tell me you were coming with Finn. I had to find out from this arsehole,” he replies, pointing to Linc.

“Last-minute decision. I call winner,” Eoghan says, walking over to the table and fishing a quarter from his pocket before slapping it on the table. Who the hell carries change these days? My brother, that’s who.

Jude and Eoghan have built a friendship over the years we’ve been doing business together. He’s even come out to Boston a few times to partake in the fight nights my brother sets up. When Jude came over from jolly old England, he’d just gotten out of the Royal Marines and hooked up with the Black Roses through an old family connection. His training in the service makes him one hell of an opponent in the ring. To my knowledge, he hasn’t been out our way since he shacked up with a little spitfire of a woman and settled down. Pity. His fights brought in a shit ton of money—especially if he was fighting one of my guys. The English versus the Irish is quite the old rivalry.

“I’ll let Ozzy know you’re here,” Knox says before disappearing down the hallway.

I take a moment to look around the clubhouse. Several of the brothers are milling about or sitting at the bar and nursing hangovers. I nod to the few I’ve met before and spot a picture on the wall with a prospect patch next to it. The photo showcases a young man in his early twenties with a bright smile. Cooper Reed. He was killed trying to protect Jude’s old lady, Lucy. A feeling of heaviness settles in my chest. The kidnapping didn’t have any confirmed connection to the Cataldis, but when Lucy was taken, she mentioned the pilot of the plane she was on spoke Italian. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the Cataldis were most likely involved. That kid was so damn young, but age doesn’t mean much in our world. Once you’re in, the enemy doesn’t give two shits about cutting your life short. It’s what we all signed up for, the score we all know too well. Doesn’t lessen the responsibility I feel toward his death, though. I should have handled this Cataldi shit when we knew what was going on after Linc’s old lady was taken and almost sold by one of Cataldi’s men. Fucking scum.

“Come on back,” Knox tells me before I can beat myself up more than I already have.

I follow the quiet man back through a hallway, and he opens the office door for me but doesn’t enter.

“Good to see you, Ozzy,” I say to the president of the Black Roses MC. We shake hands over his desk and the piles of paperwork strewn about. Looks an awful lot like mine.

“You too. Drink?” He points to the bottle of whiskey sitting on the edge of his desk. My lip quirks up, noting it’s the same whiskey we sent over here months ago.

“Please.” I’m never one to turn down a fine Irish whiskey, regardless of the fact that it’s barely eleven in the morning. “And let me know when you’re running low.”

He pours us each a couple fingers, and we get settled back in our seats on opposite sides of his dark mahogany desk. His office reminds me of my father’s, minus the skulls and old beer signs. Pictures line the walls. Photos of his grandfather—the man who started the club—and the generations of Black Roses who followed. Their club is similar to how our family runs things in that the firstborn son will inherit the leadership role when their father retires. Like the Monaghans, the Black Roses value family and loyalty above all else and proudly display and honor the previous generations.

“I wanted to talk to you about two things. First, my contacts in Nevada have heard some rumblings from the Bone Breakers. The men who came out several months ago to discuss doing business out west? The Bone Breakers think you know what happened to them.”

When I was looking at working with a club that had more contacts on the West Coast, I asked Ozzy to have the Bone Breakers out for a few days and get a feel for the type of MC they ran. I trusted his judgment and wanted to make sure the two clubs could work together with the gun business I had the Black Roses handling. Three of the Bone Breakers went missing, so I assume shit went down and the MC handled it.

“Now, I’m not going to ask what happened. That’s between your clubs.” When I asked Ozzy about the meeting, he said they weren’t interested in doing business with the Bone Breakers and they weren’t the type of club my organization wanted to work with either. It’s what he didn’t say that had me looking into other avenues to get a stronger foothold in the Western market. “But since they were out here on my behest, I thought I would let you know it sounds like there’s trouble brewing on that front.”

“Thank you for letting me know.” He clearly doesn’t plan on elaborating. If Ozzy’s club had anything to do with the disappearance of the Bone Breakers, I’m certain there was a good reason for it, and it probably saved me a future headache.

“The second is Carlo Cataldi.”

Ozzy’s nostrils flare, and it looks as though if his jaw tenses any further, he’s likely to break a molar. Can’t blame the man. That fuck Carlo threatened to sell off his woman, Freya, and nearly killed Ozzy after destroying his cabin. Freya was working as a US attorney in Boston and built an airtight case against Carlo’s father, Francesco Cataldi. Francesco washead of the Cataldi family until a few months ago. After the Italians busted into this very clubhouse just over fifteen years ago and shot Freya when she was barely eighteen, she had a score to settle—and settle she did. If there’s anyone in the state of Massachusetts who hates the Cataldis as much as my family, it’s probably Ozzy and the rest of the Black Roses.

“There’s been no sign of him,” I continue. “My source on the inside tells me his capos have no idea where he slithered away to, but he doesn’t think Carlo’s down for the count. It’s only a matter of time before he resurfaces. Right now, his organization is still floundering with him in the wind. It doesn’t hurt our cause that he was the one making deals with the skin traders. Thankfully, his capos don’t have his connections, but that could and probably will change.”

My hope is we can prevent any of them from taking over the trafficking empire Carlo was trying to build under our noses. It’s no secret that my family doesn’t stand for anyone hurting women, especially the sick fucks that buy them. That asshole kept his crew tight. Even my inside man didn’t know details about who Carlo was dealing with, and he’s been there for a few years now.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but you could have told me this over the phone. Why the face-to-face?”

I study the whiskey in my glass and take a sip before answering as honestly as I can. “Because I’m a man of honor, Ozzy. I told you we would handle the Italians, and we failed. You and I have always had a good working relationship, and I let you down. The Cataldi situation took us by surprise. I don’t like surprises, especially when they get my friends kidnapped and nearly killed.” I especially don’t like this weight of responsibility I’ve been carrying around. “I wanted to make the trip out here to tell you personally, man to man, that we’re more determined than ever to handle the Italian situation. It won’t touch you or your club again.” And I’m about to make a move that will ensure I can keep my word.

Ozzy stretches his arm over the desk and holds out his hand for me. “Thank you, Finn. I appreciate the heads-up. If you need us, you know where to find us.”

Grasping his hand, I nod. “Appreciate that, Ozzy. We’ll be taking it from here.”

When I release his hand, I lean back in my chair and take another sip of whiskey. “How’s Freya?” I heard through the grapevine, a.k.a. my brother, that she wasn’t doing very well after the attack. The wide smile on Ozzy’s face tells me that’s no longer the case.

“She’s good. Been working with the women at the shelter, helping them sort their legal shit.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “The assholes who hurt those women won’t know what hit them once Freya is through with them in court.”

I was relieved when Eoghan told me Ozzy’s old lady had decided to leave the US attorney’s office after putting Francesco Cataldi, Carlo’s father, behind bars. She’d made a name for herself as a battle-ax during her time there. Doing business with a club with such close ties to a federal prosecutor had my old man and brother on edge.

“Good to hear. I hope she gives them the hell they deserve.”

One of the reasons I’ve always liked working with the Black Roses is they feel the same way my family and I do about the pieces of shit who hurt women. There aren’t a lot of men like us who hold their business partners to such a high standard, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I know the man across from me feels the same.

“Now, let’s talk some business. There’s a new shipment coming into port down South in two weeks.”

“Not that I don’t mind the work, Finn, but with Cataldi in the wind, have you considered moving on the ports in Boston? It seems like a hell of a lot less risk for everyone involved.”

Our shipments have never gone through the Port of Boston for that exact reason. Cataldi controls those ports, and I refuse to give that man a dime in taxes. “I’m working on something.” Nothing has been solidified yet, but an offer, shall we say, has landed in my lap that would push Cataldi out for good.

We hash out the details for the run in a couple weeks and finish our drinks before I stand to head for the door.

“I’ll walk you out,” Ozzy says, coming around his desk.

When we step into the main room of the clubhouse, I spot my brother looking at the pool table with a frown marring his face and a smile of triumph on Jude’s.

“One of these days, I’m going to beat you at pool,” my brother grumbles.

“But not today,” Jude replies with a satisfied smirk.

“Don’t gloat, brother,” Linc says, smiling at Jude behind his cup of coffee. “Or I’ll call Lucy down here and tell her you wish she were here so you had some stiffer competition.”

Jude stiffens and lifts his chin before shooting his friend a narrow look. “I’m not afraid to play Lucifer.”

Linc laughs. “You might not be afraid to play her, but I’ll certainly enjoy watching her knock you down a peg or two.”

I remember Eoghan saying something about Jude’s old lady being some pool-playing phenom.

“She doesn’t win every game, mate.”

“Sure she doesn’t,” Linc drawls out. “There was that one time six months ago…” He looks off into the distance as though he’s trying to recall a memory, then snaps his fingers, turning back to Jude. “Oh wait, no. You lost and stomped off with your panties in a twist then, too.”

Eoghan and Linc share a laugh at Jude’s expense, but the Englishman rolls his eyes, brushing off their ribbing.

“You should bring her to the next fight,” Eoghan offers.

Linc and Jude both shake their heads. “My woman and fight nights probably wouldn’t mix. It would only take one remark from a meathead who has something to prove before she’d be laying them flat on their back,” Jude says with an affectionate smile.

Eoghan laughs and smacks Jude on the back, shaking his hand then Linc’s. “Well, the offer stands. I’ll just make sure to have more security on hand if you come.”

My brother and I say our goodbyes and head to the car.

“How was your meeting?” Eoghan asks after we’ve driven out of the parking lot.

“Fine. Let Ozzy know that we’re taking care of the Italian situation.”

Eoghan lets out a breath and nods. “It’s about damn time, brother.”

“It’s not as easy as you seem to think it is, Eoghan.”

My brother whips his head toward me. “You don’t think I know that? My problem with the inaction you’ve taken isn’t because I don’t know what it would take. My problem is that you haven’t done anything. If we thought Francesco was bad, he’s nothing when it comes to Carlo. Now that the old man is in prison”—he shakes his head and blows out a low whistle—“I’m afraid we haven’t seen how bad things can get.”

What he’s saying isn’t wrong, which is why I’ve been entertaining the offer from Mario Amatto, head of one of the Italian Mafia families who hold territory in Massachusetts.

The Italians split the state in three. The Cataldis have everything from Boston to Worcester, including control of the ports, which they oh so graciously allow the other families to use for a fee. The Amattos run everything from Worcester to Springfield, and then there’re the Farinas, who are in charge of Springfield to the border of New York. It’s a system that’s been in place since before my time, and as far as I could tell, it was working well for them.

Until Carlo Cataldi got greedy.

The Amattos have been having problems at the ports, shipments going missing and such, even though they pay a ridiculous amount to the Cataldis. Old Man Cataldi would say it’s beyond their control and things happen, but we all know these issues are well within his purview, just like everyone knows they’re most likely “missing” at the hands of Carlo. I don’t know why Francesco allowed this bullshit, but seeing as the Amattos are the closest family to our territory in Boston, aside from the Cataldis, we’ve heard plenty of rumors about their escalating unhappiness with the way port business was being handled. The three families have seemed to have a sort of uneasy alliance for years, but with Carlo coming into power after his father’s incarceration, those ties are shifting.

Naturally, my family circumvents the Boston Harbor completely, but that doesn’t come without its own set of problems. It would be nice to have control of those ports and Mario Amatto just might be my ticket in.

“So, what’s your grand plan?” The doubt in his voice isn’t exactly subtle.

“I’ve been in talks with Mario Amatto. He’s interested in an alliance.”

“You think you can trust Mario any more than Cataldi?”

Another fair point, one that I’ve thought of myself, but Eoghan doesn’t know the one detail that will cinch his loyalty.

I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. “He will. I’ll have something of his that means more to him than any vendetta or whatever he has against Carlo.”

Eoghan scoffs. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“His daughter,” I reply.

From the corner of my eye, I see Eoghan’s gaze bore into the side of my head as I drive down the highway without a care in the world. Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty to worry about where this crazy offer is concerned, but I’m not displaying any of that in front of my little brother.

“Come again? What are you going to do? Kidnap the poor girl? That’s not what we do, Finn.”

He’s right and I would never dream of going there. I’m nothing like that piece-of-shit Carlo.

“I’m going to marry her.”

Thankfully, we’re close to my house right outside of the Boston city limits, so I won’t have long to deal with the impending freak-out that’s about to ensue in three, two…

“What the fuck do you mean you’re going to marry Amatto’s daughter? You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Eoghan scrubs his hands over his face then opens and closes his mouth as though he’s looking for the words to express what he didn’t just yell in my ear.

“Can you lower your voice, brother? It’s not like I can’t hear you. I’m sitting right next to you.”

“Are you shitting me right now, Finn? You just told me that you plan to marry Mario Amatto’s daughter, and you what? Expect me to quietly congratulate you on what is probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had?” The volume of his voice rises with each word, right along with my irritation with his tone.

“Listen,” I say as we pull up to my house. “Mom and Dad aren’t aware of the proposal Amatto gave me, so I’d appreciate you keeping this to yourself.”

I don’t feel the need to explain my decision to my brother. My mother, on the other hand, is definitely going to have some very strong opinions on the subject.

“Who else knows?”

“Cillian. And now you.”

I park in the long circular driveway in front of my house, and Eoghan shakes his head before opening the passenger door.

I live about thirty minutes outside of the city on nearly ten acres of land. The property has been in my family for generations. Years ago, I knocked down the old house that no one was living in and built a new one, which cost a pretty fucking penny. Especially with all the personal touches I’ve added, such as a spacious safe room and an underground gun range—and a soundproof basement. If I need to stay in the city, I have a penthouse, but this is my home.

I texted Cillian before leaving Shine and asked him to meet me at my house. We need to go over a few things. Fortunately for me, his car is already parked.

Good. At least there’s someone else around to take the brunt of Eoghan’s ire.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of delivering the news to our mother. But you’d better make sure I’m in the room when you break it to her.” The cheerful look in his eyes tells me how excited he is to watch my mom hand me my ass for even considering this and for keeping it from her. I may be the boss, but Eoghan and I are still brothers and have always reveled in the other getting in trouble with our parents.

Walking into the house, I head straight to my office after texting Cillian to meet me and Eoghan there. A mahogany desk sits in front of a large window and the dark-green drapes are open to let in the natural sunlight. I let my mother design the room for me so she could feel like she contributed to my home in some way. I shouldn’t be surprised that it looks so similar to my father’s office, with the leather couch and tobacco-colored club chairs in front of the desk. I even let her convince me to cover the walls in wallpaper. I felt like a complete tool as I sat with my mother and combed through wallpaper samples, but I have to admit, this is one of my favorite rooms in the house. The bar cart set up in the corner, though? It might be my favorite detail of the room. I keep it well stocked for conversations such as this.

“What’s going on?” Cillian asks when he makes his way in, wearing workout clothes and a fresh layer of sweat coating his face and shirt. Another thing I had put in was a state-of-the-art gym. Something the three of us have in common is our love for fighting, and we all despise losing, so building a space to keep us in peak physical shape was a must when I remodeled my home. Both Cillian and Eoghan are regular visitors to my house, and it isn’t just to spend time with me; it’s to use the equipment. Beats out anything in the city you’d have to pay a ridiculous fee for.

“Well, my brother just told me about his insane plan to marry a Mafia princess,” Eoghan remarks, walking over to the bar in the corner of my office. He holds up the bottle of whiskey, and Cillian and I nod.

“Ah,” Cillian says, sitting in front of my desk and accepting the glass from Eoghan. “Maybe this place could do with a woman’s touch.” My lieutenant smirks as he takes a sip from his glass.

“There will be no touching of anything. This is going to be a business arrangement. That’s all,” I say, rolling my eyes as I scrub my fingers through my hair.

Eoghan sits in the club chair next to Cillian and stares at me like I have two heads.

“Are you out of your mind? Word on the street is she isn’t looking for anyone to make a housewife out of her. She’s a ball-busting harpy if the rumors are true.”

Cillian turns to my brother. “Word on the street? What fucking street? How would you know anything about Alessia Amatto?”

Eoghan shrugs. “I keep my ears open. Her dad is a player in our world.”

“It doesn’t matter what her reputation is. If her dad wants to come to an agreement for our mutual benefit, then she doesn’t have much of a choice. The end goal is to push the Cataldis out and position our family and the Amattos where we want to be. Alessia will have to learn to accept the role she has to play in this. End of story.”

My brother chuckles and sips his whiskey. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”